Chapter 4

The heavy round tore my chest open in an instant. The impact threw me backward onto the stone floor of the underground chapel. Blood bloomed across my chest, and the tearing pain lasted only a moment before giving way to boundless cold and emptiness.

"The blood debt is paid!" The Bertini representative holstered his gun. "The Five Families stand witness. The threat of war between the Bertini and De Luca families is lifted."

The instant the shot went off, my father was the first to move toward the dais. "Elders, now that Sofia has confessed and the blood debt has been paid, have all warrants and execution orders against Celeste been revoked effective immediately?"

He never even looked at me lying in my own blood.

The elder on the dais gave the ruling. "All kill orders against Celeste are withdrawn. Family order is restored."

Only then did my mother Isabella scream and throw herself at me.

"Sofia! Sofia!" She knelt in the blood, her hands shaking as she tried to press down on my chest.

The guards pulled her back. A doctor came forward, checked my pulse and pupils, then shook his head and drew the sheet over me. "Time of death, twelve oh seven a.m. The bullet went through her heart. She cannot be resuscitated."

The sheet settled over me, and my mother collapsed onto the floor, sobbing until her voice broke. She pounded the stone with both hands. Only then did it truly sink in: her biological daughter would never wake again.

But my consciousness did not fade. I floated above them, watching with cold detachment. I looked at my own body and at the blood spread across the floor, and I felt nothing at all.

The iron door opened again, and Celeste walked in escorted by bodyguards. When she saw the sheet and the blood, she flinched, fear flashing through her eyes. She concealed it almost at once.

She ran to my mother, threw her arms around Isabella, and wailed. "Mom! I am so sorry... Sofia died because of me! I am so sorry!"

My father came over and put an arm around Celeste's shoulders. His voice was hoarse, but it carried the relief of a man whose ordeal was finally over. "Stop crying, Celeste. Your sister took responsibility for everything. You are safe. The De Luca family is safe."

"It is over," he repeated.

"Over?"

A strained, urgent voice rang out from the entrance. Vito Rossi, chief adviser to the De Luca family, rushed in, his suit covered in dust and scorch marks. In his arms was a black strongbox with charred edges and a lid that had been forced open. He was panting, his forehead slick with cold sweat.

"Mr. De Luca! Mrs. De Luca! Wait! Something is wrong!" Vito's voice shook.

My father frowned. "Vito! The execution is finished and the blood debt is settled. What could possibly have happened?"

"No, listen!" Vito dropped to one knee and emptied the strongbox onto the floor: a box of badly damaged surveillance tapes and a newly recovered audio file.

He raised his head and looked at my parents. "We got it wrong. Anthony's killer was not Sofia!"

The room froze.

My mother's sobbing cut off. She froze. "What did you say?"

Celeste went white, her whole body shaking violently.

"I followed the order you gave me earlier, sir, and quietly searched the blast-resistant safe on the lower level of the abandoned warehouse at the docks." Vito was still gasping. "This is the last surviving audio recovered from the wreckage of the dock surveillance server! It was recorded an hour before the murder!"

My father snatched the player out of his hands and hit play.

Static hissed through the chapel.

Then a familiar voice came through the speaker, soft and delicate, yet edged with cold, vicious amusement, "...The gun is in the spare cabinet in the armory, registered under that madwoman's name."

The voice went on, "Once she signs the confession, everyone will believe the traitor who ran seven years ago came back for revenge. My parents care so much about the family's reputation and mine that even if they suspect something, they will have no choice but to put Sofia in front of the firing squad themselves..."

The air in the chapel seemed to solidify.

It was Celeste's voice. There was no mistaking it. It was the voice of the adopted daughter they had loved for seven years and sworn to protect at any cost!

"No... that is not me! Someone fabricated that recording! It is fake!" Celeste shrieked and scrambled backward on her hands and knees.

My mother stood frozen, staring blankly at the player and then at Celeste, whose face had gone gray as ash.

The player slipped from my father's hand and shattered on the floor. But that vicious confession struck like a hammer, smashing the last of his reason.

At last, the truth was out, but it had come too late.

The gun had already fired.

I floated above them, watching my parents' faces crumble with despair and disbelief, and gave a quiet laugh.